


Cross Examination

by Schistosity



Series: Other People's Heartache [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Minor Original Character(s), POV Outsider, Spoilers for Episode 87, mom continues to snoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:47:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21735526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schistosity/pseuds/Schistosity
Summary: He doesn’t want her here, that much is abundantly clear, but Allura didn’t get where she is in life by complying with the oh-so delicate sensibilities of men like Ikithon.She merely smiles, adjusting her long skirts idly but never – not once – breaking eye contact with the man before her.“I wished to speak with you, Archmage,” she says plainly. “If you’d be willing to humour me a while.”Allura fills in some of the blanks left in the throne room.
Series: Other People's Heartache [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1566433
Comments: 34
Kudos: 285





	Cross Examination

**Author's Note:**

> 4k words of mom making the bad man uncomfortable. You asked for it.

Allura pulls her cloak tighter as she walks briskly through the grounds of Trent Ikithon’s tower; the air is cold, even though the sun is shining.

Spring had certainly come to Tal’Dorei just a little bit earlier than it had to Wildemount. Rexxentrum is cold; its looming stone buildings, dark and sad and undecorated after the Krynn assault, seem to snatch the chill from the air and wear it close.

A significant part of her longs to be back in Emon, where the warm winds of spring have already begun to sweep through the city, where the sky is blue, not grey.

But such pleasures would have to wait.

Regardless, she’s glad Kima had managed to convince her to pack a fur cloak – she’s not so sure she’d have been able to spend the last week running around the cold streets of the capital without it.

A full week of information gathering has led her here, to the walled grounds of the city’s northernmost “Candle”, the one belonging to the Archmage of Civil Influence, a title Allura had been immediately wary of.

The mages in Rexxentrum are certainly not afraid to flaunt their wealth – nor their status – at least in comparison to Allura’s colleagues in the Panosophical. Towers are in no way unheard of when it comes to powerful spellcasters, but Allura hadn’t been quite prepared for the size of the _estates_ that surrounded them.

There are manors on the grounds of Ikithon’s tower, far more that would be expected to house any live-in servants his offices may require. They’re odd, too; Far too tidy and neat in their presentation – like the façade of a beautiful thing with nothing behind the eyes.

She tries to ignore the fact that, in the middle of the day, Ikithon’s grounds appear to be entirely devoid of life.

 _Appear_ being the operative word; Allura’s solitary walk to the base of the tower is accompanied by a constant feeling of unease – the ever-present sense that she is being watched.

She reaches the base of Ikithon’s abode quickly, not wishing to stay out in the cold emptiness of the estate any longer than she must. She nods to the guards flanking the entrance who, to her surprise, appear to recognise her in some respect, and step aside to usher her through with little fanfare.

For the first time that day, Allura feels a creeping sense of uncertainty. How sure can she truly be that her “unannounced visit” to Ikithon’s tower today will be a surprise? The mages of the Cerberus Assembly seem to have their fingers in more or less every pie the Empire has to offer, and Allura hasn’t been making an effort to be particularly quiet in her investigations this past week…

She pushes those thoughts aside. She must keep her head high.

 _Your hand is a good one,_ she thinks, _do not show it when you do not know who might be watching._

The entrance hall of Ikithon’s Candle is only marginally warmer than the air outside. It’s… deceptively humble. The walls are made of plain, dark stone, with little decoration. There’s a singular desk in front of a singular door, but beyond that everything is… tidy.

Devoid of life.

A young half-elven woman with tawny hair sits behind the desk, bent over something obscured by neat stacks of papers and tomes that form a wall between her and the rest of the room. She doesn’t appear to have noticed Allura enter.

As Allura grows closer she realises the girl is busying herself with blotting her fingernails with ink from a small inkwell, painting them a stark shade of black, completely unaware of the world around her. Her tongue is poking out between rosy lips, and her eyes are narrowed in concentration.

Allura clears her throat lightly.

The girl leaps about a foot into the air, clumsily fumbling at the inkwell as it tumbles over onto the papers strewn about her desk.

 _“Schieße!”_ She curses, holding her stained hands in the air and staring down at the spilled ink with a forlorn expression. She holds it for just a split moment before jumping to attention and focusing on Allura.

“A-Apologies!” she stammers. “I wasn’t paying attention!”

Allura waves her hands and shakes her head. “No, no! I should apologise. I shouldn’t have scared you.”

Before the girl can interject, Allura waves her hand again, weaving the somatic motions for a simple prestidigitation. In an instant the ink stains on the desk are gone.

“Thank you!” The girl says, wonderstruck.

“It’s no problem, really,” Allura says. “Can you contact your Master for me?”

“I–I’m sorry but he’s not taking meetings at the moment.”

“Tell him Allura Vysoren from the Council of Tal’Dorei is here to speak with him. Please.”

The girl nods and reaches for what looks like a sending stone on the desk.

She holds the stone up to her mouth and rattles off a series of short, nervous sounding messages in Zemnian that Allura cannot understand – though she does catch her own name and the word “Tal’Dorei”, so she’s confident no funny business is going on.

At least no amount of funny business she can’t handle.

After a moment the girl lowers the stone.

“He’ll see you now, Lady Vysoren,” the girl says. “He’s in the top chamber.”

There are _stairs_ to Ikithon’s office – a feature that makes Allura yearn for her home tower with its lovely teleportation circles more desperately that she has so far.

She wonders if it’s some sort of power play – to make guests climb so many floors just to see him. If it is, she’s not about to let it work.

It’s a while before she reaches the door to Ikithon’s office. She pauses to catch her breath before knocking.

“Come in,” comes a muffled voice from within.

The room is large but relatively empty, walled by bookshelves and containing only an ornate desk and a chair in front of large windows overlooking the city. An art piece of some kind sits behind the desk in front of the windows, but it’s partially obscured by the form of Trent Ikithon in a high-backed chair.

“Lady Vysoren,” he says, voice tight and dripping with formality. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

He doesn’t want her here, that much is abundantly clear, but Allura didn’t get where she is in life by complying with the oh-so delicate sensibilities of men like Ikithon.

She merely smiles, adjusting her long skirts idly but never – not once – breaking eye contact with the man before her.

“I wished to speak with you a moment, Archmage,” she says plainly. “If you’d be willing to humour me.”

Ikithon rises to his feet behind the desk, crimson robes hanging a little loose over his thin frame. Though somewhat stooped with age, he’s still nearly a head taller than her.

He sweeps his robes back over one shoulder and gestures for her to enter the room.

“Of course, my lady,” he says.

Ikithon waves a hand and a high-backed chair appears on the opposite side of his desk. Allura nods and crosses the room, lowering herself into the seat gratefully.

The archmage grips the back of his own chair but makes no move to sit down.

Ikithon speaks first. “May I enquire as to how you are finding Rexxentrum? I was under the impression you were to be leaving after the meeting last week.”

 _Starting with this right away, aren’t we?_ She thinks. She doesn’t quite blame the man.

“I decided to stay for a bit longer,” she explains mildly. “Personal business. You understand?”

“Indeed,” Ikithon says, obviously disinterested.

“I was wondering if–”

She breaks off, catching sight of what she had first assumed to be an art piece behind Ikithon’s desk. Upon closer inspection, however, it’s very clearly not an art piece at all.

A giant crystal of residuum sits on a pedestal in front of the office’s large windows, casting a greenish pallor over the reflection in the glass. The thing is huge – at least twice the size of Allura’s head – and she looks at it with open shock.

“I–” she trails off and meets Ikithon’s eye. He’s smirking at her. “That is quite a large piece of residuum.”

“It is,” he says. “I’ve had it a long time.”

Allura swallows.

“I was under the impression it wasn’t possible to buy singular crystals that size from Whitestone.” It was a polite way of saying she _knew_ it wasn’t possible.

Because she knew the de Rolos, and the de Rolos knew the dangers of residuum better than most. They would never in their right minds provide a piece so large as this to _anyone_.

“You are correct,” Ikithon drawls, his voice sending an unpleasant shiver down Allura’s spine. “It has been a fair bit harder to procure such sizeable pieces of residuum crystal since Whitestone’s change in leadership.”

The implication, which hangs over the room like a dark shadow, is clear.

“You…you had business with the Briarwoods?” Allura says, barely able to keep the taught tension out of her voice. She scans Ikithon’s expression for any changes, any sort of flinch, but all he does is continue to smile with those pale eyes.

“Minor business, yes,” he affirms. “Many years ago now.”

Allura frowns. “You are aware of the atrocities they committed during their time in Tal’Dorei, are you not?”

“Of course,” he replies, his smile almost predatory now. “Terrible indeed, but business–” he drifts over to the crystal, reaching out to tap it with a dull _ting-ting-ting_ “–well… business is just business, isn’t it?”

Allura tries to ignore the pit in her stomach, but there’s something in Ikithon’s eyes that tells her he’s seen her hesitation.

 _You have the better hand here,_ Allura thinks to herself again, _do not let him scare you when the deck is stacked in your favour._

She’s about to speak again when there’s a sudden knock at the door.

 _“Eintreten!”_ Ikithon barks.

The door opens and a small figure steps through – the half-elf girl from downstairs.

She’s tidied herself up some. Her nails, previously black, have been scrubbed of ink, save for a few stains on her cuticles, and her hair has been tied up in a neat braid. In her hands she holds a tray upon which sits a fine ceramic teapot and two teacups.

She looks far more presentable, here in her employer’s office, but when she speaks it’s just as nervous as before.

“Pardon me, Master Ikithon,” she says, bowing her head in apology. “I’ve brought tea for yourself and Lady Vysoren.”

Ikithon’s expression grows stormy. “I did not request–”

“I did,” Allura says quickly.

The girl shoots her a grateful glance.

Ikithon grumbles something and the girl surges forward, placing the tray on the desk and pouring two cups.

Allura wonders why the girl had carried tea up here unprompted, before she realises it was probably a ploy to make sure Allura was okay. It baffles her, and she meets the girl’s final, worried glance as she slinks back out of the room.

She wonders why the girl would have thought it necessary to have to check on her, but then she remembers the throne room.

She remembers Caleb, hunched into the lapels of his blood-stained coat like the flimsy fabric could possibly hide him as Ikithon spoke.

She remembers Caleb, with that kicked-dog expression, surrounded by his friends whose tense shoulders and wary glances formed a stone wall between him and the rest of the world.

She remembers why she’s here.

“I wanted to get your opinions on the Mighty Nein.” Allura says, taking a sip of her tea. “If I am not mistaken, you, Master Hass and myself were the only ones to have had contact with the group prior to the meeting last week.”

Ikithon doesn’t miss a beat as smirks, but Allura knows not to fret – if he had been inclined to be so easily thrown by a simple inquiry like this then he wouldn’t be where he is.

“That is correct,” he says, just an edge of sly-ness creeping into his voice.

“What did you think of them – your personal perspective?”

Ikithon grins, showing a cracked tooth. He twirls his spoon around in his tea but does not drink it.

“The Expositor was certainly an interesting sight,” Ikithon muses. “I haven’t had the opportunity to meet many of their order before, but I can safely say she’s the… _brashest_ Expositor I’ve been acquainted with.”

Allura thinks back on Beau, standing bloodied at bruised in the king’s chambers. “She wants her fucking beacon back,” she’d almost spat, staring up at the most powerful people in her country with knitted brows and the aura of a rebellious child.

It had brought a private smile to Allura’s lips then, and it does the same now.

Ikithon continues unabated, almost disregarding Allura’s presence as he begins to pace.

“The others? Not Empire citizens as far as I am aware… relative nobodies from beyond our borders. They are talented in the art of killing, but their skills in negotiating peace between nations is unproven – and I am a cynic by nature.”

“You believe them unable to meet your standards?”

“Of course I do,” Ikithon laughs. “They’ve come far from mercenaries but that by no means makes them _diplomats_.”

He finally takes a seat leaning onto his desk with steepled fingers, staring Allura through with piercing eyes she doesn’t dare flinch away from.

“All they’ve done for us is enact a flimsy and unprofessional infiltration of an enemy nation. The Cobalt Soul are not the only ones with spies on Xhorhassian soil, Lady Vysoren, however _my_ people are not so clumsy as to have their names known to the leaders of the enemy. They are not so prolific as to be able to be used as bargaining chips.”

“Perhaps it is a good thing?”

Ikithon scoffs. “A spy who is noticed is not a good spy.”

There’s a pause then as his words settle between the two of them, cold, like snow.

Allura feels her skin crawl a little, though she’s not entirely sure why. She makes a mental note to look into exactly what the responsibilities of the Archmage of Civil Influence are; she’s not sure she had noticed _spymastery_ as one of them in her cursory research.

When she shifts her attention back to the conversation, Ikithon is already talking.

“Their decision to bring a goblin into the halls of the king… well, that speaks on their character enough for me.”

Alura purses her lips and dives into her tea again, trying to mask her strained expression from Ikithon’s gaze.

She doesn’t agree with Ikithon’s assessment of Nott one bit, though perhaps at one point in her younger days she may have. She’s learned since then, learned not to judge books by their covers.

She remembers Wensforth, so distraught at the loss of Yussa that she could almost feel his nervous trembling through the sending stone.

She remembers Nott, gaze fierce and unforgiving, tracking Ikithon as he left the halls of the king. She remembers seeing her long, spindly fingers wrapped tight around Caleb’s unresponsive ones, steadying and tender.

Ikithon is wrong, but Allura say nothing, she just continues to sip her tea and watch.

“The Xhorhassian – Yasha – now that is an interesting one. I can’t say we know much about her, but I’d very much like to.”

There’s a hunger in his eyes at the mention of Yasha, and it makes Allura uncomfortable.

But what makes her more uncomfortable is Ikithon’s obvious omission – the member of the group he has so deflty avoided mentioning.

So she mentions him for him.

“And what of Caleb Widogast?”

To his credit, Ikithon’s calm smile doesn’t falter, but his eyes narrow just a fraction – the lines on his face tense just a little bit more.

“Their wizard,” Allura continues before Ikithon can speak. “He did not speak at the meeting with His Majesty, which I found quite odd; he was talkative in our previous encounters.”

“Where are you going with this?”

“I just wanted to ask if you knew why his demeanour had changed,” she says lightly, bathing her words in the kind of chilled, political nonchalance that would make Kima gag. “You know him, don’t you?”

She knows from her conversations with Hass that the two men had only met Beau and Yasha during their time in Zadash, not the others, but a blind person would be able to see history between Ikithon and at _least_ Caleb – if not the rest of the Mighty Nein.

Even if she hadn’t had that assurance, the Mighty Nein’s faces in the throne room – full of rage and fear and simmering hatred – were enough of a confirmation that there was bad blood between them.

Allura just didn’t know what that bad blood was quite yet.

Once more to his credit, Ikithon seems smart enough to have realised that this is only half a bluff, and that lying here wouldn’t be wise.

She, in some ways, wishes he would lie though – it would make all this quite a bit easier.

“That is correct,” Ikithon says simply. “Though I have not seen Mr. _Widogast_ in quite some time,”

Allura doesn’t miss the odd inflection the archmage puts on Caleb’s surname, but she says nothing on it. “Might I ask how you know him?”

Ikithon looks at her for a long moment before answering, his voice significantly more level and controlled.

“He attended school here in the capital some years ago – at the Soltryce Academy.” He nods out the window, where the shimmering roof of the aforementioned school is just barely visible along the cityscape. “I have the privilege of guest lecturing there from time to time.”

“You have an impressive memory, Master Ikithon, to remember a student from that long ago.”

Ikithon’s smile, though dark, is oddly genuine as he says: “Well, let’s just say he made quite an impression on me.”

“It must have been quite the impression, I’d imagine it’s hard for a man who doesn’t exist to make such a mark.”

Ikithon’s smile is gone, but Allura’s only grows in its absence.

She takes another sip of her tea.

Allura had spent the last week digging into the Mighty Nein, and she had only been a little surprised to learn that more than half of them were ghosts.

The only two who were even remotely traceable were Beauregard and Jester. Beau, a Cobalt Soul monk, of course has official documentation – and her lineage beyond that? Kima would be amused to learn that Allura had met the daughter of one of their favourite winemakers.

Jester, on the other hand, was a little harder to trace. She wasn’t from the empire, but her sporadic use of her true surname had led Allura to Nicodranas, to the Ruby of The Sea, a famous courtesan Allura has had to assume is the young woman’s mother.

The others… now those were mostly dead ends. All of them were undocumented, most foreigners – Nott was a _goblin_ of all things – and their names had only begun to show up in Empirical transcripts around the time of Ikithon and Hass’s first meeting with them in Zadash.

But it had been Caleb that had surprised her the most.

From what she had gathered just from _listening_ to him speak at Yussa’s home, his origin had to have been nothing short of squarely in the Empire. A history like that, even if he had grown up rurally, would have left some kind of footprint.

Yet Caleb Widogast’s footprint apparently started in the same place as the Mighty Nein’s – a town called Alfield, in a missive from a crownsguard to Zadash. He’d begun there, with the Mighty Nein, no trace of him before, and barely any after.

It hadn’t been hard to put two and two together – to realise the poor man was, for whatever reason, operating under an alias.

She supposes she could blame her surprise on nostalgia – comparing the Mighty Nein to other adventuring parties in her past.

Having known a man like Percival de Rolo for as long as she had, who had worn his family name like armour from the moment Allura had met him, it had become easy to forget there were people in the world who did not have such favourable relationships with their identities.

When Ikithon says nothing, Allura continues to speak. “He went by another name when you knew him, didn’t he?”

The archmage’s voice is as cold as ice when he replies. “You are treading a _dangerous_ line, Vysoren.”

The lack of an honorific makes Allura’s mouth curl into a smile.

“And what line would that be?” she asks, voice drenched with faux politeness. “I am simply asking for a name. Do you have something to hide, Master Ikithon?”

He narrows his eyes at her, and she stares back, keeping her expression as mild and calm as possible in the face of a man who appears to be mere seconds from snapping.

The pause is long. The silence quakes before Ikithon finally speaks.

“Bren Ermendrud,” he says.

“Do you know why he’s going by another name?” She asks.

Ikithon leans back in his chair. “No, though I’d think your imagination should be apt to come up with some interesting reasons.”

“Perhaps. Though there are probably better ways to find out the truth.”

She finishes her tea and gets to her feet, rearranging her skirts as she does.

“You overstep, Lady Vysoren,” Ikithon says, watching her ready herself to leave with hawkish eyes. “You should be careful where you stick your nose. This is not your war, nor are the Mighty Nein your people.”

“The war in Wildemount threatens more than the Empire and the Dynasty,” Allura says, adjusting her cloak back over her shoulders. “One would have to be blind or stupid to not realise that.”

Ikithon gets to his feet – a motion that would look to any outside observer to just be a man politely walking a lady out of his office, but to Allura it is very clearly an attempt to put himself back on even footing with her as she continues to prod.

“What happens after the conflict spills to the Menagerie Coast?” she asks. “Where then does the fighting spread? Tal’Dorei has the closest continental border with Wildemount. If your forces are pushed out where are you to go but onto our soil?”

That smugness pulls back into Ikithon’s expression for just a moment. “You imply the Empire would ever be forced that far out of our lands.”

“Anything can happen in war.”

“Some may call such insinuation treason, my lady.”

“Some.” Allura agrees, thinking of the king, fuming as he calls her a traitor. “Fortunately, I have no ties to your country I am able to betray.”

“Is that entirely true?” Ikithon muses. “You say you have no ties to the Empire, why then do you ask after these _Mighty Nein_ so ardently?”

“I am not asking after them out of a sense of national responsibility,” Allura says coldly. “My curiosity is that of a concerned ally – a friend.”

“Why did you come here today? Why did you corner me in my own abode like an animal when you are such a tentative guest in this empire?”

“I want to make sure they are not being used.”

“All of us are being used in one way or another, Lady Vysoren.” Ikithon’s expression is dark. “This world is not a kind place, as I am sure you are aware.”

“I’m inclined to disagree, Master Ikithon,” Allura says softly. “I’ve found it has the potential to be very kind indeed.”

Ikithon narrows his eyes even more, trying to make Allura flinch as he looms over her but finding no purchase.

Allura keeps talking as if the man is doing nothing. “I want you to know that the Tal’Dorei Council is very invested in the outcome of these peace talks. It would be unfortunate if things were to go south due to carelessness.”

“What are you implying?” Ikithon snarls.

“Nothing, I should hope.” Allura grips her staff a little tighter. “I’m just praying they will be safe under the Assembly’s eye for the duration of this mission.”

Ikithon grits his teeth. “You care a great deal for these foreigners. Is that not unbecoming of a woman of your position?”

“Maybe so. But they are also allies of mine. Allies that have done good things in the past and have the potential to do even greater things in the future. I would quite like to see them accomplish those things, Master Ikithon… I’d quite like to see them _all_ accomplish those things.”

Ikithon’s lips, thin and pale, are pressed tightly together by the time she’s finished speaking.

“Rightly so,” he says, clearly not meaning a word of it.

With that Allura realises she’s been slowly walked backwards out of the room and is now standing in the hall.

Ikithon has his hand on the door, ready to shut it at any minute.

Allura knows she shouldn’t stir shit – that’s Kima’s job, not hers – but there’s a little urge in her chest to get the last laugh here.

So, she straightens her back and looks the archmage in the eye. 

“So just know, Master Ikithon, I’ll be keeping an eye on them – The Mighty Nein – Bren too, of course.”

Ikithon scowls.

“Personal business,” she says. “You understand.”

The last thing Allura sees before Trent Ikithon shuts his door in her face is the faint glint of afternoon sun off the residuum crystal.

And then nothing.

The walk down the stairs in Ikithon’s tower is shorter than the walk up, and Allura doesn’t feel nearly as tired as she thought she might when she re-enters the lobby.

The half-elf girl is sitting back behind her desk and perks up when Allura appears.

“Lady Vysoren!” She squawks. “I hope your meeting went well!”

“Very well. And thank you for the tea, dear, it was lovely.”

The girl flushes darkly. “D-did you get everything you needed from the Master?”

Allura smiles.

“Yes, I think I did.”

**Author's Note:**

> trent: i'm gonna be all fake polite and intimidating to get her to leave  
> allura: bitch if you lay a finger on the mighty nein i'm going to personally cut your little jaundiced dick off  
> trent: :V
> 
> headcanons this fic employs that’ll probably get jossed:  
> \- King Dwendal has no idea that Trent is experimenting on children. Ripley got kicked out of her position in the Empire for human experimentation… Dwendal is a dick but why would Trent be more tolerated?  
> \- Trent gained his supply of residuum while the Briarwoods controlled Whitestone, one) because the timelines match a little better and two) because I don’t want to put that shit on Percy’s shoulders. The poor guy.
> 
> find me on tumblr @fizzityuck or in aisle 13 at your local CVS!


End file.
